


Drawn

by nightcamedown



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Banter, Comment Fic, Foreplay, Harvey Being a Charming Idiot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-02
Updated: 2011-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcamedown/pseuds/nightcamedown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey has the wrong idea. Written for tokenblkgirl for the Comment Fic Meme!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawn

According to Harvey, Jessica had promised to take him to dinner after he passed his final exams. She claimed to have no such recollection, but when she suggested waiting until he did something actually worth celebrating, he had pouted at her long distance for weeks. Let it be noted, the man had an impressive pout.

"Okay, okay, I can do Friday. Nine o'clock," she'd finally sighed, in her most distracted tone of voice. She tapped her pen idly against her day planner, not bothering to circle the date. It was clear but for a single notation - 9pm Dinner w/ HS. She'd penciled it in in January. "God, Harvey, I don't care. Just pick somewhere."

Claudia, typing at her desk outside Jessica's office door, flashed her a thumbs up without even looking up from her computer. The secretaries had pinged Harvey's Pavlovian response to dismissal within ten seconds of meeting him, and since then they'd trained him like a dog. A little lap dog. With a sparkly collar.

Harvey called five more times that week, each time more nonchalant than the last, until by Friday his words were a slurry of indifference. _Seeyouaboutnineokaybye_. Claudia played the last message back on speaker, and they listened to it over and over, hunched over the phone with their hands pressed to their mouths, giggling harder every time.

*

He surprised her a little, picking an upscale bistro in Cambridge instead of a steakhouse downtown. She would have been fine with the steakhouse; precisely what she liked about the bistro was that she hadn't expected it.

Harvey, though - ah, Harvey. So young, so promising. So stupid. He surprised her, too, and not in the good way. Either he had recently suffered a head injury, or he had actually convinced himself that the reason she hadn't slept with him all this time had to do with the number of letters after his name. He was trying so hard to charm her that he was basically one giant twinkle.

She'd resisted seduction by better men than Harvey, so she didn't let his perfect gentleman act distract her from an excellent meal. The second bottle of Cabernet didn't hurt, either.

Afterward, he sat half-sideways in the back of the town car, nudging her knee with his own, taking up way more space than he'd earned. She had the driver stop a mile from from Harvey's shitty studio apartment, and turned to him with a smile that she held in reserve for just such occasions. A little coquettish, with a clear warning behind it for those with eyes to see.

Of course Harvey, the dolt, just leaned back and flashed that big grin at her. At her! Like she'd be shimmying out of her Donna Karan in the back of a town car idling on a curb in fucking Cambridge. Sometimes the sheer lunatic quality of his confidence made her wish she hadn't already built up an immunity to his particular kind of poison. She and Harvey would have had one hell of a weekend.

Still. Lines had to be drawn, and in Jessica's experience they were best drawn sharply.

"You seem to be under the impression that I owe you something, Harvey," she said, in a tone that made his jaw drop. It was a glorious sight. She reminded herself to bring a camera next time she handed him his ass. "I'm going to give you a chance to ponder just how wrong you are, and once you've done that? Go ahead and give me a call." She leaned across him and popped the door. "Now get the hell out of my car."

*

He didn't call the next day. He didn't call on Sunday, either. He sent flowers instead. Delivery boys knocked on her door six times over the weekend, filling her sunlit loft with bursts of orchids and lilies and birds of paradise that shouldn't have worked but did, somehow, thanks to the exquisite eye of some undoubtedly well-tipped florist.

The extravagance amused her, as it was meant to. When Harvey called her office at the start of business on Monday, she only put the usual amount of chill into her voice. "I said to call, not drown me in flowers."

"I'm calling now," he said, in a voice that probably actually was what Harvey thought apologetic sounded like. "To say that I'm deeply sorry. I was out of line."

"Damn right you were," she said. She spied a messenger handing Claudia a small, flat blue velvet box. "And that better not be a diamond tennis bracelet. I can't abide cliches, Harvey."

"It's not," he said, as Claudia walked into Jessica's office and hand her the box with an elaborate shrug. "Open it."

She did, and laughed. "Cheap seats at a Yankees game, huh? You think you can buy your way back into my good graces so easily?"

"Cheap seats at a Yankees game and all the nachos you can eat," Harvey said.

"Boy, you really know how to sweet talk a girl." She turned the box and held it out towards Claudia with a raised eyebrow. Claudia checked the date on the tickets and nodded. "Okay. I'm in. Don't screw it up."

*

They met at their seats. Harvey stood to greet her, holding out his hand with a sheepish grin that did more to charm her than all the French-influenced bistros in the world would have. She took his hand and shook it, laughing. "You are a ridiculous human being, you know that."

"It's kind of my thing," he said cheerfully. Tonight he'd gone full Abercrombie: dark jeans, a blue and white plaid shirt layered over a white tee, artfully tousled hair, and aviator sunglasses that dangled from his collar now that the sun had slipped below the horizon.

It was such a perfectly manufactured image that there was nothing to do but mess with it. Jessica reached up and flattened his hair with one hand, ignoring his hiss of protest. "I was promised nachos," she said. "Hop hop."

He brought beer, too, without having to be told. And in return she didn't ask how many strange looks he'd gotten in the men's room in the time it took him to retousle his hair.


End file.
